Willy Wonka at Hogwarts
by Astra H. Lowelle
Summary: Eleven-year-old Willy Wonka and his experiences at wizard school.
1. His Sorting

"Hmmm... Willy Wonka, eh? I've heard odder names in my day. Well now... let's see... oh my, that's quite a lot of ideas you have buzzing around in here. So, you like to create things... mostly sweets and chocolates and candies... and you want to share them with the world... very Hufflepuff of you, Slytherin too- sweet and ambitious and extremely knowledgeable... dear me, shades of Ravenclaw in here too. My, my... oh, there's a touch of introversion... you don't like adults very much, don't trust them... hmmm... lots of flair, I like to see that... you like to explore, opens up the possibility of Gryffindor for you... you _are_ a difficult one, aren't you! A touch of cynicism there, my my my... perhaps more than a touch. I see honesty... determination... oh dear, you don't like to follow rules very much, do you? Hufflepuff won't do you, you need a strong environment... a few good friends, a few trusted confidants... my oh my, just look at this sense of purpose... right then... I think you'll be very happy in SLYTHERIN!"


	2. His Welcome Feast

Loud applause rang in Willy's ears as he slowly made his way to the table under the big green banner. A tall boy with blond hair and grey eyes and a prefect's badge gleaming on the front of his robes clapped him on the back as he passed.

"Welcome to the best house Hogwarts has to offer," he said, smiling. Willy thought it looked rather like a smile a dragon gave you before it tried to eat you. "I'm Abraxas Malfoy, and I'm the prefect of Slytherin House. You _are_ pureblood, aren't you? What did you say your name was again?"

"Willy," Willy replied. "Willy Wonka. And yes, I'm pureblood, but my parents don't really talk about that much. Why, does it matter?"

Abraxas Malfoy's smile tightened just a bit. "All right then, Wonka. I imagine I'll see you later. Go and sit down."

Willy took a seat near the end of the table, where was shortly joined by "Zascal, Amadé!", a boy with dark wavy hair and pale blue eyes and a long, thin scar down the side of one cheek.

"Hello," he said cordially, grabbing Willy's hand and pumping it as he sat down. "I'm Amadé Zascal. But I only get called that when I'm in trouble, which is more often than not, but you can call me Amadé unless I steal your pudding."

Willy gripped his hand genially. "Willy Wonka. I guess we're going to be friends."

Amadé grinned widely. "Oh yes. We've no choice. We've got to stick together if we're going to avoid Malfoy and his cronies and make it through in here. I've got a cousin, fifth year, his name's Joseph- he's on the Quidditch team, he's one of the Chasers- and he says Malfoy's a piece of work if you get on his bad side. And he says it's really easy to do, so just staying out of his way's your best bet."

Willy turned his attention to the scar on his new friend's face. "Where'd you get that scar?"

"Hang on a minute," Amadé whispered. "I'll tell you right after Headmaster Dippet finishes his speech. He's a talker, isn't he?"

The speech was over soon, as was the first course, and Willy was happily sampling the various sweets and desserts as Amadé talked.

"-so after we saw the Hornswoggler, we ran for our lives and crashed headlong into a-"

"Is Loompaland really all that dangerous?" Willy interrupted. Amadé scoffed as he demolished a plate of strawberry cake.

"All that dangerous? There's a reason it's been made Unplottable by the African Ministry!"

Willy sucked thoughtfully on a chocolate-coated bit of pastry as he listened. "And you go there often?"

"Every summer! My uncle Xaver goes takes me there to find new magical plants to catalog. He's a magibotanist."

The last of the desserts vanished, and a great scraping of benches announced that the feast was over.


	3. His House Rooms

Willy and Amadé followed the crowd of Slytherin downstairs to where Malfoy showed them a blank stretch of wall.

"Serpentarde," he announced.

"Gesuntheit," Amadé whispered to Willy, and both laughed.

The blank wall slid open slowly to reveal a large, dim room, mostly green and black in color with lots of marble and snake motifs and decorations everywhere.

"Looks rather like my Great-Auntie Anna's house, but in the wrong colors," Willy whispered to Amadé. "She favors lime green and raspberry pink. I made her bonbons in that color once."

Amadé giggled softly. Malfoy heard him.

"What's that noise?" he demanded sharply. "When I am speaking, I demand silence. Clear?"

"As the day you were born," Willy called out, falsetto.

"Not terribly clear, then," Amadé added loudly, also falsetto. "Overcast, cloudy skies, with a good chance of rain and a thick fog smelling violently of rotten eggs."

Malfoy pulled out his wand like a fencer unsheathing a rapier. His grey eyes raked the assembled group.

"I hope the speakers will not choose to exercise their wits again," he said softly. "A prefect should refrain from disemboweling his fellow house-mates. Anyone want to try me?"

Willy shoved a fist into his mouth to stifle a giggle as Amadé mouthed the words with his nose high in the air, twirling his finger to his temple.

There was silence for a few seconds.

"Right then," Malfoy continued. "This is the dormitory. Girls' dormitory to the right, boys to the left. Find your rooms and unpack. And just let me catch one hint of silliness or foolishness from any of you and you'll be in detention for a month. Be very grateful I don't take points from my own house."

Willy and Amadé joined the boys as they trooped up the staircase.

"We're going to have to cook something up for our dear prefect," Amadé muttered as the two boys entered the dorm marked 'First Years'. "Any ideas?"

Willy's eyes sparkled. "Not just one idea, Amadé. I never have only one. We've a host to choose from. Let's unpack, and I'll tell you some ideas. Ooh- I want that bed over there. Here, you take the one beside it."

Amadé hefted his trunk onto his bed. "I think we're going to have a fun year, Willy."

Willy pulled a small bag of brightly colored candies from his trunk. "Have a sweet. I invented them myself. They tickle when you swallow them."


	4. His Morning

The next morning revealed a bright sky smiling down on the Great Hall as everyone breakfasted. Willy and Amadé, clad in their new House colors, sat at the end of the table again, Amadé chattering excitedly about the coming lessons while spreading enough jam on his toast to eclipse the bread.

"It's Transfiguration first with the Hufflepuffs, then Potions with the Ravenclaws, and then I might need a quick nap. Pass the jam, would you? I don't have enough on here."

Willy absently pushed over the sticky sweet spread. "Have you practiced any spells yet?"

Amadé shook his head. "Not really. I did a few and they backfired so badly my mum made me pack away my wand and not take it out until school. How about you, have you practiced?"

Taking a large bite of porridge, Willy looked thoughtful. "I've been making sweets and things since I was really little, so I guess you could call that Potions. Not so many spells, except the one to light a fire and a few others. I'm very good at that one. _Incendio._"

He flicked his wand at the tablecloth, and the white linen was ablaze. Amadé yelped, grabbed a goblet, and emptied coffee over the small fire, putting it out. Willy looked disappointed.

"That was my drink. I was drinking it. Why did you spill it out?"

Amadé sighed. "You set fire to the tablecloth. That's why. I'll pour you some more. Want some cornflakes?"

Willy wrinkled his nose. "I never understood why people sharpen pencils right into a box. Disgusting. Just some more coffee, please. And don't you think that's enough jam?"

"No," Amadé said readily. "I can still see the bread."

"Amaderl! My little warrior!"

A taller, more muscular version of Amadé came trotting up to them, grinning broadly as he ruffled Amadé's hair. "Welcome to Slytherin, cousin! And who's this?"

Amadé grinned back. "Willy Wonka, my new friend- Joseph Zascal, my favorite cousin."

Joseph put out a hand for Willy to shake. "Pleased to meet you, Wonka. Play any Quidditch?"

"Not a speck."

"Oh." Joseph shrugged. "Well... we need spectators too. See you around, both of you- I've got to get off and make sure Mezmir doesn't spike my pumpkin juice again."

"Who's Mezmir?" Willy wanted to know. Amadé shrugged.

"Dunno. We've got class in a couple of minutes, so finish your coffee and let's go. Tell you what, we'll catch Joseph at break and ask him to tell us everything we need to know about this place and everyone in it."

Willy swigged the last of his drink and stood up. "Right, off we go. I say, though, I wish there was an easier way to get around this place. Too many stairs."

Transfiguration passed quickly and relatively uneventfully, unless you counted Amadé turning his desk into a toadstool, and upon Professor Dumbledore's polite entreaty to turn it back, Transfigured it into a large flowering geranium.

"At least he didn't dock us points," Amadé reflected as the two walked down to the dungeons for Potions. Willy looked at him.

"Us? He said he was very impressed with my work."

"He was just trying to make you feel good," Amadé reflected wisely. "Oh look, here's the classroom. Professor Slughorn's teaching- Joseph told me he's our Head of House. Think he'll be extra nice to us?"

"Well, I do have that unidentifiable charm," Willy reflected. Amadé grinned. The first years of Ravenclaw and Slytherin lined up outside the classroom until they were told to enter.

Professor Slughorn was large, with gingery hair and a bald spot and an enormous smile on his round face.

"Welcome to Potions!" he exclaimed happily as everyone sat down. "This class is complex, yet straightforward; you'll do well if you've the spirit of it, as well as a good head for instructions and an innovative mind. There's that certain something about brewing a potion- it's an art, not a chore. I hope to be able to teach it to all of you throughout the years. Right then, let's start off the year with a simple Bulbaceous Beverage. Turn to page fifteen, please. Ingredients are in the cupboard, the method is on the board- oh, and as a special treat for the very first lesson, I am offering fifty points to the brewer of the best potion. Off you go now, and good luck!"


	5. His Potions Lesson

Willy opened his book to the correct page and quickly scanned the ingredients.

"Something wrong?" queried Amadé, who had begun grinding lemon seeds.

Willy frowned. "I don't know who wrote this book. They haven't a single ounce of imagination. I mean, look at this!"

He was throwing things into his cauldron as he spoke, stirring energetically as he did. "No mention chili dust, no mention of Chuddelleaf extract- you'd think they _wanted_ us to get this wrong! Never mind, there is no way their recipe going to work."

He shut his book with a decisive _thud_ and pulled out a small sack from his bag.

"Powdered _Fleur de Loomp_," he explained to Amadé, who was, along with most of the class, looking at him as if he'd gone mad. "I never go anywhere without it. Hurry up, Amadé, the class is over in twenty minutes."

"Willy," Amadé groaned. "What are you doing?"

Willy hummed away happily as he upended the sack into his caldron, sending up a _whoof_ of bright pink smoke that smelled of wet leaves. The potion turned pale lavender, simmering and swirling gently.

"The book says the potion should be muddy yellow," Amadé moaned. "We're going to have the worst potion in the class! Willy, can't you follow instructions?"

"Not really," Willy replied absently, dipping a finger into the potion and licking it thoughtfully. He stirred a few times. "Pass me the essence of Trippelu tongue, would you?"

"Five minutes!" called Slughorn.

Willy stirred feverishly. "No, no, no, no- what's missing? Amadé, help me think!"

Amadé sighed heavily. "The book says the potion should be sky blue."

"Well," Willy exploded, "it's _NOT!_"

And with that, he shoved back his chair, leaned over, undid the laces of his shoe, threw the shoe over his shoulder, yanked off his sock, and dropped it into the potion.

"Ow!" exclaimed the one the shoe had hit.

"Two minutes!" called Slughorn.

Willy fell to mixing again, humming contentedly. "Amadé, those fifty points are as good as ours."

Amadé moaned.

"And time's... up!" called Slughorn. "Right then, let's see what you all have for me. Hmmm... well done, Mirant, but not quite... my goodness, Tuskan, you're quite heavy-handed with syrup of hellebore, aren't you?... Good try, Poyl, but you ought to have mixed a few more times after adding hoopo egg- it's all right, lad, you'll do better next time... and- my goodness, Wonka, Zascal, what have you _done here?_"

"We're really sorry, sir," Amadé muttered, red-faced.

Slughorn clapped his hands, beaming so brightly his smile almost touched his ears. "What for? This is the best Bulbaceous Beverage I have ever seen in all my years of teaching! Willy, Amadé, to give you only fifty points would be an insult to this masterpiece! Take seventy five points each for this work of art! Well done, lads, well done, well done indeed!"

A round of applause from the Slytherins rang through the dungeon. Beaming, Willy stood up and bowed.


	6. His Plan

"G'mornin', Willy," Amadé yawned as he sat up in bed and stretched. "First week over. I'm glad it's the weekend."

Rubbing his eyes, Willy grinned at his friend. "Me too. Guess what?"

"Hmmmmm…" Amadé pretended to think. "Does it have anything to do with that racket I heard you making in the Potions classroom last night?"

"How did you hear me from up here?" Willy asked, puzzled. He extracted a sock from his truck, peered thoughtfully at it, and prodded it a few times before tugging it on.

Amadé shrugged. "I was getting ready for bed, couldn't find you anywhere, went around to look for you, saw that classroom door open. Who else could it be?"

"Where's my other sock?" was Willy's only response.

The boys went downstairs for breakfast with the other Slytherins, everyone chatting excitedly about the notice that had been put up that morning.

"Quidditch tryouts Monday night!" was Serine Marcael's response to Amadé's query as to what everyone was so thrilled about. "I bet the pitch'll be mobbed today, with people practicing. Are either of you going to try out?"

"Probably not," Willy replied cheerfully. "How about you, Amadé?"

"Of course!" Amadé was adamant. "Joseph would kill me if I didn't. He's been training with me since I was little. I love Quidditch. But-" he grinned ruefully. "If I get onto the team, my jersey's going to say 'Amadérl' on the back. Count on it."

Willy grinned.

When the boys were done breakfast, Willy led Amadé back downstairs to the dormitory.

"Why're we here?" Amadé asked, a trifle annoyed. "I wanted to find Joseph and see if he'd let me borrow his broom for some practice."

"Well, I can't see why," came a disdainful voice from behind them. "First years don't get onto the house team, Zascal."

Both boys whirled around.

"Mind your own business, Malfoy," Amadé shot at him. The blond prefect smirked.

"Well, I would hate for you to get your hopes up. Besides, the Slytherin team is perfect as is. We don't need upshot newcomers to ruin it. Especially another Zascal."

"Let me guess," put in Willy, snatching at the back of Amadé's robes to prevent him hitting Malfoy. "You're on the team."

"Of course I am," Malfoy said smugly.

"Well, that's very nice. But Amadé and I really have to get going."

"Why didn't you let me punch him?" Amadé said grumpily as the two sat down on Willy's bed in the deserted first-year dormitory. "And why are we even down here?"

Willy's eyes sparkled. "Two questions, and I've got only one answer. Look at these."

He pulled out a small bag from his bedside cabinet and tipped a few golden-brown round objects into his hand.

"What are those?"

"These," Willy announced grandly, "are what I was working on last night. They're caramels that make you hiccup uncontrollably until you say the word 'sarsaparilla'."

"Wha- why 'sarsaparilla'?"

Willy shrugged. "It's a fun word, isn't it?"

Amadé had to concede it was. "Can I try one?"

"Nope." Willy's eyes gleamed. "I haven't tested them yet- and I have the perfect person in mind."

"Oh no-!" Amadé started to laugh. "Don't tell me-"

"Okay, I won't tell you. But today's lunch should be entertaining, eh?"


End file.
